Boys leave. Girls arrive.

Having rid ourselves of boys whose names begin with J (and day-amn, we had a great time), I settled down to collapse for a week. But no, not allowed. Online acquaintance of the fannish variety messages me and says: "Yo, I'm arriving tomorrow." That was yesterday. But hey, should be fun, and I figure it's all karma. When I do my tour of the UK, I hope my fannish friends will put me up.

So, lightning-quick organisation of rendezvous by St. George (saints have so many uses) and now I get to party on down for the rest of the week. I think the Male is just going to collapse, though.

Fascinations of the day:

• Obvious fake tan. How obvious? Well, she has a tattoo, and obviously the fake tan doesn't go over the tattoo, because there's a little line of not-quite-tan around it. I can't stop staring. She's going to get the wrong idea.
  
• That Irish Accent. Still.
  
• Students still carrying on about the war, and would it really be that bad if I wrestled the microphone off them as I went past and flushed it down the nearest loo?
  
• The State of the Inbox. Not good.